


Into the Shallows

by Winterotter



Series: Follow Me Down [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, OT3, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Canon, Sexual Content, goes AU at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:16:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20032477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterotter/pseuds/Winterotter
Summary: It had become obvious to him that Thomas and Miranda’s marriage was far from conventional. Which wasn’t any of his concern, until they invited him to make it his concern.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late to the game on this fandom - I was very let-down (i.e. angered) with the end of Game of Thrones and a friend recommended I wash the bad taste out of my mouth with Black Sails. And then I was hooked *shrug*. 
> 
> This first chapter is heavy on Miranda/James, but don't worry the second chapter will feature Thomas a quite a bit to make up for it and the third chapter will truly be all three of them together. 
> 
> Some scenes are inspired by the show, but they don't necessarily happen quite the same way or they're drawn out and fleshed out a bit.

* * *

She had planned to demure and back off at the first sign he didn’t welcome her advances. Truly,  that had been her intention, and not just because she knew all too well how it felt when a person would not take ‘no’ for an answer. She wanted James to feel comfortable with her, not hunted.

But his 'no' hadn't felt like a no, not truly, not to her.  He had said the word, he had instructed the carriage driver to take them back to her home instead of the art show, but his eyes had never stopped watching her. His gaze was unbearably soft and longing. Something - something only he knew of, buried deep behind his polite mask - was holding him back. 

It was up to her to find a way around it, to find a way to keep him from denying himself something she could clearly see he wanted. It was possible it was a simple sense of propriety or a healthy fear of what would happen should they be discovered. Still, neither rang true for her brave Lieutenant. 

She leaned forward, closer to him, "I suspect you care more for what people see and think than you care about what we're actually doing behind closed doors." 

"You think you know me so well?" James' defensive words were belied by his fond smile and by the way he mirrored her movements. He didn’t pull away or lean back when she reached across the space between them to grasp his hand. 

“Perhaps you are right,” he murmured, his voice gone with an emotion she couldn’t recognize in him. She didn't know him or his emotions well enough, not yet. 

"I always am, ask Thomas," she said sweetly, and he lifted their clasped hands to brush a kiss across her knuckles. He turned her hand, pressing a second, lingering, kiss to the center of her palm. 

"Remind me to do that later. For now, my lady, allow me to indulge in your company for the length of our ride." 

"Please Lieutenant, call me Miranda." 

"Mm. Convince me to," his free hand brushed a curl from her face as he leaned further into her space. She met him there, smiling against his lips. 

"It would be my pleasure," she murmured against his lips when they paused to breathe.

In answer he lifted her up by the waist, drawing her into his lap, her skirts spilling around them. She shifted to more comfortably straddle him, her legs falling to rest just outside his.  "I've been thinking about this since I opened my door to you this morning," he was whispering against her neck, and it wasn't fair, it wasn't right, that she had started this as the seducer and ended up the seduced. 

"Then get to it, Lieutenant," she whispered back, "I trust you know what you're doing." 

"As my lady wishes," he gasped, and he had them on the floor of the carriage and her skirts shoved up and out of the way in less than five seconds. She pushed away the excess fabric so that she could watch his face as he fumbled with the clothing left between them and entered her in one long stroke. "My God," she moaned, "James, I won't last long, you aren't the only one who has been thinking of this, please just _move_." 

It took them less than five minutes, start to finish, and when they were done  James shifted to lay beside her on his back as they caught their breath. It was graceless, frantic, and unromantic. And for her, it was extremely satisfying. She rolled over, sprawling across his chest. "Next time, we'll take the time for sweet words and touches," she told him, her voice husky and rough. 

He raised his head and looked about them with a pointedly arched eyebrow.  They  were sprawled  in a still moving carriage, drawing ever closer to the Hamilton Estate, "we'd better choose a more appropriate venue for such an occasion." 

"Certainly," she said, and he laughed. 

"A bed would not go amiss. I'd offer mine but you saw my lodgings. You and Thomas - " he cut himself off, turning his face away from her. 

"James," she whispered, leaning up to kiss his face, his jaw, his neck, any piece of him she could reach that wasn't hidden under clothing. "Where did you go? Come back to me, darling, please. Thomas adores you and he gave us his blessing. Come back to me." 

He turned back to her, leaning into her ministrations. 

"My apologies, I didn’t mean to..." 

"It's alright," she continued to dote on him, kissing his face and brushing his tousled hair out of the way, "I adore you, Thomas adores you," she felt him tremor at her words, "and next time we'll do this properly, in a bed at home, I promise." 

She felt him sigh beneath her, "Miranda. Must I remind you that your home is not mine? It doesn't feel right to do this under his roof, no matter how adoring he is or how often he gives his blessing. It - it just makes me uncomfortable. I don't know why, it  just  does, I - " 

She shifted off him slightly, planting her hands beside his head and looming above him. "No, stop, it is your home as well as ours for as long as we all want it to be so. In this case, James, we must let our sense of propriety go silent. Propriety never does anyone any good, not when it keeps us from happiness. We both want you there, in a bed by yourself, or with company, it's entirely up to you. Do you believe me?" 

"Yes," he said, his voice a rich, warm rasp as he tugged her back on top of him, cushioning her on his broad chest. He stroked her hair, "Lord knows why, but I do believe you." 

That silenced her. She was supposed to be coaxing him into giving in to his emotions, into allowing himself to reach for happiness. Instead, it was James who drew emotion from her as easily as he turned the pages of a book.  All it took for him to undo her was a single moment of vulnerability, the slightest evidence of the depth of his feelings for her and Thomas and she found herself swamped in emotions. Affection, fondness, love. He was so reserved most of the time that when he did deign to show an emotion it always took her breath away for a moment.

"The carriage will arrive soon," he whispered, and she sighed, shifted. 

"I know," she said, "will you come in and see Thomas?" 

"That depends," he said, "you woke me from the first decent sleep I've had in several days - would he mind if I took a nap during my visit?" 

"Do you  really  have to ask?" 

"No, but it is fun to rile you up."

* * *

The next day, while James was at a meeting with the admiralty, Thomas cornered her in the library. "Your  endeavor  with James was successful, wasn't it?" 

She set down the book of poetry she'd been flipping through. There was a moment's silence as she let his anticipation build and then she said, "Yes." 

"And yet he slept in the guest room alone. I was sure that he was going to invite you to join him after drinks last night." 

She made no response. 

"Was it me? Did I do something to discourage him?" He asked. 

"No, my love, no," she said. 

"Dinner went well, I had him talking about naval tactics and his ship again and he seemed so relaxed with us. He called us by our given names! But then he clammed up again over drinks. What am I doing wrong?" 

Miranda crossed her legs, patting the cushion beside her on the couch in a silent invitation. 

Once he sat, she grasped his hands in hers, "you did nothing wrong, my love. James is a hard nut to crack, it will take time.  He comes from a different background, one where being eccentric isn't just something to be gossiped about but to be punished. We will have to ease him into this, yes?" 

He nodded, fractionally. She squeezed his hands, "you have the harder job of waiting, I know, as I must be the one to draw him further in. But Thomas, it will be so worth it if he cares for us even half as much as we care for him." He turned his hands over to lace their fingers together and she smiled at him, "if he does, it will be magnificent. We will be magnificent." 

Together they leaned in, resting their foreheads together.  From what she could see, his face looked as intent as if he and James were once again pouring over their plans for Nassau. As if he could craft the future with his own hands if he just put enough effort and thought into it. 

"I think we can safely say he cares for you the way we desire him to. So the question remains: does he care for me in that way?" 

She nodded, " I believe he does, but I also believe he doesn't know that yet. I need more time, he needs more time," she continued, "can you be patient?" 

"I thought that was what I was doing," he said, his tone rueful. 

"Can you continue?" 

"For you? For him? I could wait an eternity." 

She smiled, shifting to rub her cheek against his and then to find his mouth and kiss him softly. "In the meantime,  I think  a distraction is in order." 

* * *

When she had first met James, his appreciative looks at Thomas, at herself, had been noted and returned. He was physically handsome and his interest wasn't unwelcome. Her husband had spoken of him so often since meeting him that she had felt she knew him already. 

It hadn’t taken much interaction to convince her that Thomas’ regard for the man was deserved and something she shared.

She had leaned out of her carriage and drawn his attention  fully  onto her, "what's your name, Lieutenant?" 

"McGraw, James McGraw," he had answered with a wry smile - he had guessed somehow that she already knew the answer to her question. They had spoken of Thomas then, and of what made great men: Great. It had been an auspicious start for them. 

Their first time together had been in the back of that carriage and their second had been in the promised bed in a guest room at the estate. It had been as tender, gentle, and romantic as their first time had not been. 

They went at it whenever they could carve out time alone, by common consent never at his lodgings and never in the bedroom she shared with Thomas. Once they had stayed up too late entertaining in the salon, had drunk too much wine, more than a little too much as it turned out. Their love-making had been so good that night that her guttural cries had drawn a concerned Thomas to the door of the guest room to check that they were both okay.

"Christ Almighty," she had moaned, trying desperately to regain her composure so that Thomas would be assured of her health and leave before James turned so mortified that all their progress would be undone. She had managed to convince Thomas not to come into the room, her own embarrassment and the shame radiating off James eating at her insides. Until he had caught her hand and pulled her down to him, "Hush," James had said, "it's okay beautiful, it's all right." 

"We're alright," he had raised his voice to carry through the door to Thomas, "we  just  got a bit carried away."  That had been enough to convince Thomas to go back to his bed but Miranda hadn't been surprised when he hovered much closer the following day, concerned about her and about James.

"I'll muffle my noises next time," she had told James matter-of-factly once Thomas was out of hearing range. He had sat up, taking her with him but still holding her to him. 

"Please don't," he had said, "I like hearing you," and as she had kissed him, something had shifted in her chest, and she had thought: finally. Their time together had gotten more intense after that, more intimate, fueled more by affection than by lust. Those weeks together burned into her memory in a series of vivid images and feelings. 

And then she had taken ill - she'd always been prone to sickness as a child and when the weather grew cold she had caught a cough that exhausted her.

She had roused to see James' face over her, white and drawn with worry, and saying nothing but _ Miranda, Miranda _in a tone she had never heard from him before. Thomas had swum into view behind him, one hand on James' shoulder and the other reaching down to wipe at her face with a damp cloth.

When she had groaned and curled onto her side for another bout of coughing James had rubbed her back gently, pressing his face into the curve of her shoulder. Thomas bustled around them, fetching water and tea and taking his own turn comforting her. 

The next morning when the worst had passed and Thomas had left to wash up, James had leaned over to kiss her forehead and then said, "I'm sorry, but  I don't think  I can do this anymore." 

She had nodded, had expected that he would pull away at some point, shame was a hard emotion to overcome, but she had been surprised at the twist in her stomach, at the pain, it summoned in her. "Alright," she had said, trying for a light tone, "what part can't you do?" 

He hadn’t smiled but he also hadn’t leaned away. "I have to get some distance, and I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner." 

"Realize what?" 

"I'm in love with you," he had said, "I love you and Thomas is my best friend, and every time we go behind his back with his blessing, something inside me breaks a little more. I know you love him, that I can't hold a candle to what the two of you share, so it's better for  all of  us if I remove myself from the situation." 

"Oh," she had said, "Is that all? I'm in love with you too, James, _darling_, and Thomas knows." She had looked at him, and he had bent to kiss her, and he had stayed.  Together he and Thomas had looked after her, doted on her as much as their schedules allowed as she had recovered. She hadn't known it was possible to feel as loved as she had in those days, some part of her had never wanted it to end, even if it meant living with a perpetual illness. 

The three of them had found a balance after that, spending time all together and in pairs. She and James kept each other company when Thomas held court in salons across London, she and Thomas continued their easy and loving relationship when James  was called  away by the Navy, James and Thomas argued and debated over their plan for Nassau, and all three of them read together in the library and discussed their favorite books. 

They may have continued on like that indefinitely,  if not for Lord Alfred Hamilton, Thomas' father.

* * *

“I find his motivations just and true and I find yours to be wanting, sir,” James said, his tone as firm and unyielding as she imagined it must be when he commanded a ship. It was not the kind of tone anyone took with the elder Hamilton and Miranda bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “I think  it is time you took your leave.” 

Alfred Hamilton stood, throwing his napkin down on the table.  He took a long look at each of them, lingering on her until she shuddered and averted her gaze, remembering the harsh words he'd had for her moments prior. She knew Thomas and James didn’t see her that way, that they didn't think she was a harlot, but hearing it spoken aloud in their presence was humiliating.

“You will come to regret this night, Lieutenant McGraw,” he said before striding from the room. 

It was silent in the dining room save for the crackle of the fire and the sound of their breathing. She collapsed into the back of her chair, her hands clasping in her lap where no one would see them shake. Some days, she wished her men were a little less noble and brave than they were. 

James was still standing by his chair, his gaze fixed on where his hands were clutching the backrest. His knuckles were white and she wished to go to him and comfort him, but it wasn’t her he needed at that moment.  Thomas had always been the better comforter, in any case, as she preferred to provoke and tease the people she cared about out of a bad mood. She wasn't good at comforting as such.

“Did you  just  ask my father to leave his own house?” Thomas asked as he slowly stood as well. His words trembled with incredulity and James flinched away from him. 

“I,” he said hoarsely, “yes, I suppose I did.” 

“James -“ 

“You’re a good man Thomas. More should say it, and someone should be willing to defend it.” 

“Oh,” Thomas said. 

“I apologize if I overstepped - if I created problems for you, either of you. But I won’t apologize for defending you.”  He raised his head and she could see the determined turn of his mouth, the glint in his eyes daring them to condemn him and throw him aside.

Thomas crossed the room to him and Miranda knew what would come next.  He reached out to cradle James’ face, his movements slow and exaggerated so that he would have time to turn away, and for a moment James leaned back, his stubbornness fading to confusion. Thomas followed the movement, his thumbs stroking across James’ cheeks. His touch was tender and gentle and everything she knew James would never to think to ask for. 

“Do you love me?” Thomas asked. 

Miranda had never seen either of her men look quite the way they did at that moment, so vulnerable and yet so willing to reach out to each other.

“Yes, I do,” James said, glancing at her to include her in the statement before returning his focus to Thomas, “more than my life.”

“And I love you.” 

James shook his head, his disbelief visible to her from across the room, “I don’t understand _why_.” 

“Because you’re James, my noble lieutenant who challenges me on my ideas and makes me better for it, because you care for and defend me and my wife when you have no obligation to do so, because of so many little things I could spend my life enumerating them .” 

James learned in and Thomas met him in a kiss so soft she found herself holding her breath.  When they parted James crushed Thomas to him and she watched as her husband held him close as he shuddered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my temper got away from me, I don’t know what I was thinking,” and Thomas just kept saying “hush, it’s alright. Our timetable will move up, it's alright, we’ll find a way to work around my father, hush now, James, it's alright, I will make it alright.” 

Miranda looked away - she hoped Thomas was right but she worried that this dinner had set them all down a road that would only lead to their doom. 

* * *

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets bit more *ahem* graphic if you know what I mean.

* * *

It was Miranda’s first instinct to jump to damage control and planning. 

There was little to be done at this time of night, of course. But Thomas had no doubt she’d find something to do, a letter to write, a friend she could call on in the morning, a plan that could be put into motion. Thomas, on the other hand, wanted to celebrate. He knew that his want was the less productive option, that hers was the necessary and appropriate one, but he couldn’t help his desire to throw his arms up in the air and shout his joy.

James loved him, James had kissed him, and the months he’d spent wondering and hoping hadn’t been in vain. 

“I can begin making arrangements tonight,” Miranda conceded, reaching for the decanter on the table and refilling her glass of wine, “I suspect you two would be useless even if you desired to help.”

He smiled: Miranda knew him, and James, very well. 

“Hold on,” James said, leaning forward over the table, “I’m the one who put us in this position, shouldn’t I be the one to lose sleep trying to mitigate the damage?” 

Their heads swiveled to face him, “I could speak to Admiral Hennessy tonight,” James went on, “he thinks of me like a son, he wouldn’t begrudge me a late visit if it’s for a matter this important.” 

There was a beat before either he or Miranda answered him. “I suspect you will lose sleep either way, my darling,” Miranda said with a wicked grin, “speaking with the Admiral can surely wait till the morrow.” 

“And,” Thomas jumped in, “I was the one who decided to push forward with the pardons. This is not your sole responsibility, James. You lost your temper a bit, yes, but you’re my liaison and advisor. The pardons, this plan, it rests on my shoulders. If it should go sideways, I shall gladly bear the brunt of the consequences.” 

The ominous silence that followed his words was the first sign something was wrong. Miranda’s face twisting from delighted into something somber and James refusing to look at either of them was the second. Then Thomas reviewed what he had said, and flushed. In one fell swoop, he’d managed to undo all his work at convincing James he was an equal partner in this and he’d likely damaged any chance of losing sleep in a pleasant way this night as well. “My apologies,” he said into the quiet. James continued to study his hands and didn’t look at him, “I merely meant my father and his ilk will ultimately hold me to blame.” 

He looked away, unable to face either of them and instead watched the light from the fire dance on the wall across from him. His time with James rather than Lieutenant McGraw had been spectacular, really it had, but apparently it only took one crisis for Thomas to put his foot in his mouth and ruin it. It was just that he had felt it in the center of his body, a terrifying and dizzying rush - of what it would mean to lose James to his guilt, to his desire to fix what couldn’t be fixed, he could see a turn of events where James drove himself to distraction trying to fix everything. His own desire to avert that, to salvage the romantic end to the night he’d been hoping for, had instead ruined everything beyond tonight. 

He suspected he’d only be met with the distantly polite Lieutenant going forward. James wouldn’t greet him with that vulnerable and shaking smile ever again, wouldn’t fold himself into his arms like he belonged there. Not after he’d so callously dismissed his role, his importance, to their plan for Nassau. 

And then Miranda rose, saying something about moving to the study, he couldn’t make out her exact words over the roaring in his ears. He did feel the kiss she brushed across his cheek on her way out. Thomas continued standing there, aware that James had remained in the room, and had glanced his way a few times. James leaned over the table to rescue Miranda’s abandoned wine and downed it in one go. 

Thomas frowned but didn’t feel he had the right to say anything. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” James asked, finally turning to fully look at Thomas and meet his gaze. It wasn’t the polite Lieutenant facing him as he’d feared, but he wasn’t sure the alternative was better. 

“You’re furious with me,” he said, “and quite possibly a bit hurt.” 

“Yes.” 

“You have every right to be,”

“Yes.”

“I let my emotions get the better of me, please believe me when I say that I consider you my equal... I only meant to reassure you that this bind we’re in isn’t your fault. Not entirely.” 

James took two steps closer to him, tilting his head to side and examining him. “Please say something,” Thomas said. 

“Do you think the idea of the bulk of the consequences for tonight falling on you is comforting to me?” 

“Oh,” Thomas said, “I thought...” 

“You thought I was hurt over being reminded of my place.” 

“Well, yes. I was wrong to imply you weren’t an equal in this.”

James took another step closer - if Thomas could summon the courage it would be easy to touch him and draw James to him. 

“How can I be if I don’t bear equal responsibility?” James asked, his gaze had settled on Thomas’ face but he still seemed to be looking for something. What, Thomas didn’t know. 

“Between the three of us, you can bear equal responsibility. And joy. And love,” Thomas whispered, swaying forward with each addition but not reaching out, not yet, “but I can’t force others to spread the blame equally.” 

“That will do, I have more to say on the subject, but that can wait. Because we,” James said, reaching over to cradle his face, “have better things to do.” 

Warmth rushed from James’ hand and through Thomas, an almost giddy sensation, “that we do,” he said.

“It’s been a long time coming.”

Thomas covered James’ hand with his, nuzzling his palm and wrist, “I can’t believe I’m touching you, that I’m allowed to,” he whispered. 

“Please,” James said, in a tone just as soft and reverent. Thomas bent his mouth to James’ and kissed him. It was slow, more hesitant than their first kiss due to the tension still dissipating, but no less affectionate. 

“You are gorgeous,” he said, “how are you so gorgeous?” 

“Come here,” James tugged him back and they were kissing again. This kiss was not hesitant. He groaned around James’ tongue, flushing with embarrassment at the volume, before he found the right spot in James’ mouth and was pleased to not be the only one groaning. All of a sudden, Thomas couldn’t touch enough, couldn’t get his hands on enough skin. His back hit the wall, he’d hardly noticed James backing him up against it. 

“Do you want to do this here?” Thomas panted. 

“I don’t care where we are.” 

“Then touch me, James, please god I want to feel you.” 

“I’m trying but your clothes are unnecessarily complicated,” James grumbled, his hands fumbling with the buttons on Thomas’ waistcoat. 

Thomas knocked his hands away, undoing the buttons himself, James took the hint and began stripping out of his uniform. 

“Lock the doors,” he said when it became apparent how much quicker it was for James to get out of his clothes. James strode to both sets of doors and locked them, unashamed of his nudity and unaware of how Thomas’ hands had stopped moving as he watched, transfixed. And who could blame him? James had been unfairly beautiful when hidden under his Navy uniform and was more so once free of it. 

“Why are you still dressed?” James was smirking at him, his brow arched in an expression he must have picked up from Miranda. 

“Ah, well, you are thoroughly distracting my dear,” he managed to say around the lump that had formed in his throat. 

James wasn’t smirking anymore as he rejoined him. “You called me gorgeous,” he said, “if I’m that, you are... beautiful beyond words.” 

“James, come here,” he said as he finished stepping out of his pants, “Christ I’ve wanted this for so long.” Warm hands helped him shrug out off his shirt and then they were deliciously bare and pressed together. James’ hand found his jaw again while the other wrapped around his cock. 

“I want to feel you in my hand,” James was whispering, “I’ve spent so long thinking about it, what it would feel like, about watching you get off, about all of it.” 

Thomas jerked in his grasp and James pressed him back against the wall with force, the thud from it knocking a vase off the mantle and to the floor.

“Fuck,” James swore. He pulled back, glancing at the shattered porcelain on the floor. Thomas’ eyebrows shot up. “That was expensive, wasn’t it?” 

“Ah, Yes.” 

“I’m sorry,” James said, his expression so chagrined that Thomas began laughing. James’ beautiful face creased into a smile, and he was laughing softly too. They were kissing again, James’ hands had moved to grip his ass, pressing them together. 

“You’re good at this,” Thomas said, his surprise coloring his tone. It was fair, he thought, considering how long it’d taken for them to arrive at this point. 

“I’ve done this a few times before. Besides, Miranda and I talked about you, what we each would like to do to you. This, this is a fantasy I’ve thought of many times.” 

“Oh Christ - that feels -“ 

James was rubbing against him, their bare skin deliciously warm and smooth. His hands traced the sculpted lines of James back, finding and following the path of old scars. Their kissing was bruising and messy and glorious. “Every night,” Thomas panted, “I think of you every night.” 

“I hoped so,” James said warm against his mouth, “I hoped Miranda was right to encourage me, that you might...”

“Yes, James, I love you, I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.” 

“You have?”

“Yes, James, please just-“

“Slow down,” James breathed into his ear and Thomas tried, he tried to even his breathing to something less ragged and desperate but he couldn’t, he couldn’t slow down, and why didn’t James understand, why wasn’t he as frantic? 

“I can’t - I just- James,” he turned his face to the side and bit his lip, trying to control it. It was just that it had been so long since he’d been with a man, and he’d thought of this so much, and now that it was happening he couldn’t reel himself in. 

“Okay,” James whispered, “okay, hang on, I’ll catch up.” His hands shifted then, from stroking explorations to moving with intent. He was still rutting against him but his hand snaked between them and gripped Thomas’ cock.

He shuddered but James must have misinterpreted the sound because he made a soothing sound and said, “I’m sorry, I know my hands are rough,”

Thomas shook his head, turning to catch James in another kiss, “don’t you dare stop,” he said into his mouth. The hand around his cock tightened and then moved and Thomas wasn’t capable of speaking, of thinking anymore. His head fell back against the wall and James’ mouth trailed kisses down the arch of his throat. 

“Nggh,” Thomas groaned, his body convulsing, shuddering with pleasure. James gentled him through it, his hand loosening and moving away, his own breathing ragged as he shifted to rut against Thomas’ hip. He pulled James closer with clumsy hands, fighting to get traction on sweaty skin. 

“You don’t know what you do to me - you beautiful - Christ,” James panted, open-mouthed, his hips slamming into his sensitive groin. “Oh, fuck, oh, Thomas.” 

James tucked his face into his neck and Thomas felt every shudder, every shiver, rode it out with him. Then, James’ full weight collapsed onto him, pressing him against the wall and almost taking them both to the floor before he could shift his feet into a stable enough stance to hold them both up. For a moment, they both struggled to catch their breath. 

His hand found its way into James’ hair, stoking the sweaty strands out of his face, “did that live up to your fantasies?” 

“Mm hm.” James' voice was lazy and sated, rich and slow like a warm day spent in the sun. His voice had always been entrancing, he spoke rarely but when he did James had a way with words that forced everyone within hearing to stop and pay attention. Would he ever get tired of hearing his voice? Stop finding new and wondrous things in the sound of it? In the words he chose with the care of a man who had read widely and who knew the power behind the words he spoke? 

Thomas spread his stance and slowly let his back slide down the length of the wall, taking them both to the floor in a controlled fall. “Do you always have your first encounter with someone in unconventional places, or are Miranda and I just special?” He asked once he was settled, James a heavy weight on top of him. 

“Both,” James murmured, his eyes still closed. 

Thomas pressed a kiss to the top of his head, his fingers tracing circles on James’ back. “So that’s what that’s like,” he said, “being with you. I can see why Miranda can’t get enough. Next time, I’ll last longer, I promise.” 

James' eyes cracked open, slits of blue, green, and grey. Ever-changing in the light, mercurial like the sea he loved so much. “I couldn’t shake the thought,” he started and then stopped.

“You couldn’t shake what thought?”

He looked sideways, his gaze studying the pile of discarded clothes, the broken vase. He looked everywhere but at Thomas. “That you would tire of me, that you and Miranda would lose interest once you’d caught mine. That it was all a game.” 

Thomas wrapped his arms around him and held him close, “it was never a game, not with you, my dear James. We love you, more than I thought possible.” 

“I love you too,” James shifted, leaning up to kiss him softly, “you and Miranda. I can’t imagine my life without you anymore. I would be in a sorry state.” 

Thomas couldn’t think of an answer to that, he couldn’t imagine a life without James, without Miranda, either. He sighed and changed the subject, “how long do you think we have before a well-meaning maid pokes her head in?” 

“I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.” 

“Well. We might want to think about getting dressed then.” 

James’ soft laugh reverberated through Thomas, warming him down to his bones. 

* * *

James crept up the staircase and was surprised to find Thomas waiting for him at the top. He stepped up to stand in front of him, a bit hesitant. 

“There you are,” Thomas said, and there was no question behind the words and James was thankful for it. He didn’t know how to explain why he’d needed to walk the grounds to clear his head. He’d been relaxed in one moment and claustrophobic the next, he’d needed the time and the fresh air to regain his equilibrium. Thomas waved him into the sitting room that was just off the staircase, moving to the drink cart in the corner. 

“I’m switching to water,” he said, his back to James, “but I can make you something stronger if that’s your preference?” 

“Water, please,” he said and took the glass when Thomas offered it. The option for more was tempting but James had a feeling he should be sober for the conversation he suspected Thomas was about to start. 

The sitting room wasn’t one he’d been in before. It was more comfortable and lived-in than the formal one downstairs - but it was still ornate in a way James had only encountered with the nobility. It was certainly nicer than his own accommodations, which wasn’t hard to accomplish. His salary as a Naval officer was modest and he’d never spent it on bettering his rooms. Somehow, it was easier to examine the room than to look at Thomas who was leaning against the arm of the settee and looking... well beautiful, honestly. His clothes were back on, disheveled and loose, and his hair was damp from an attempt to clean up. James suddenly wished he’d taken the time to do the same rather than walking the grounds. 

“Miranda is deep into her plotting and my bottle of good brandy,” Thomas was saying. 

“Well, if anyone could solve this in the course of a single night, it would be Miranda. Is she cross with us?”

“No, not truly. But I suspect we’ll both have some groveling to do if we wish to return to her good graces,” Thomas said shrewdly. 

“She did warn us not to move forward with the pardons, and she was probably right. I do believe they’ll work,” James said, tilting his drink and watching the ice swirl, “but we’re going to have a hell of a time convincing anyone else.” 

“You think Admiral Hennessy will support us?” 

“Yes, maybe. He is fond of me and he has always said that there is only a very small line between Navy men and pirates. There’s a reason so many of them were once sailors or privateers. We’re more similar than either party likes to admit.” 

Thomas smiled and drank more of his water, “of course he’s fond of you, I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be. James, you made officer against the odds, despite peers and superiors who sneered at you, and you have made quite the reputation for yourself. You’re his legacy. And an impressive one at that.” 

“Well, I owe him a lot. I wouldn’t be the man standing here before you today without his guidance,” James said, “and speaking of him, he’s been talking about dispatching a ship to Nassau in a couple of months. I was thinking I should be on it, get a closer look at the situation there.” 

“Eager to leave London? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your diligence and dedication. I’ve never met another man so focused on doing a job right rather than quickly.” 

“Thomas? What is this?” He asked, the vice around his throat restricting his words down to a whisper. It was rare anyone went out of their way to praise him, and it was out of character for Thomas to do it with such emphatic deliberation. 

Thomas set his water down in the table beside him, “this,” he said, “is an apology. One that I’m bungling apparently.” 

The words settled across his shoulders, a weight that had him bowing under it. Before tonight’s dinner, he hadn’t allowed himself to consider that Thomas and Miranda would want him for more than a moment, for more than the time it would take for him to grow boring. And then during dinner, Alfred Hamilton had insulted them both and he’d been unable to stop himself from answering, from defending. After dinner, well after dinner, he’d let himself hope. He’d let himself savor it, their affection. The feeling of Thomas’ body against his, his mouth, the rush of reciprocated feelings. It had been exhilarating. He supposed it was better to have gotten a taste, and to lose it, than to have never have had it at all. 

Or at least that’s what he told himself. 

“An apology,” he repeated, “I see. Perhaps I should take my leave.” 

“What? No,” Thomas said, “I think you have misunderstood my meaning -“ 

“It’s alright, Thomas. I don’t require an explanation.” He tried to keep his voice level, casual, but he could hear how tight it was. He finished his water and moved to set it down on the drink cart. “Thank you for your hospitality tonight.” 

“James,” Thomas said and moved to stand beside him and then he placed his hand over his. His movements were hesitant as if he expected James to lash out or flinch away. “Please, I only meant to apologize for the position our plan will put you in. I know that damage will be done to the image, the reputation, you’ve been building for yourself. I am not and will not apologize for anything else that happened tonight.” 

“Oh,” James said, dumbly. That was twice tonight, he realized, that Thomas had apologized to him. “Well,” he tried, “perhaps we should consider ourselves past the need for apologies. They’re not good for my heart, Thomas.” 

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” 

Thomas’ eyes held his, his hand was still on his and his thumb had begun to draw distracting circles there. James glanced down at their hands. Then Thomas lifted his hand to his face, examined it, and turned it over to press a kiss to the center of his palm. His breath stuttered and his heart rate kicked up. Could Thomas feel his pulse through the hand he was cradling to his cheek and nuzzling? 

“So,” James croaked, “leaving aside unnecessary apologies, should we discuss how this changes our plans?” 

Thomas lowered their hands and stepped back towards the settee, tugging James with him. He gestured for James to sit first, his eyebrows raising in a silent question once he was settled. James swallowed before nodding, his hands coming up automatically to help guide Thomas to settle across his lap. Thomas grinned down at him, his hand coming up to trace his face and jaw. He leaned down, pausing just short of kissing him. 

“May I?” He asked, his eyes grave. Somehow, James knew if he said ‘no’ or shook his head, everything would stop. No questions asked. It gave him the strength to nod, to smile into the kiss Thomas gave him. It was like before, in the dining room, but at the same it wasn’t like before. Everything else had fallen away, and it was just two of them, pressing into each other on a settee too small for them. The world had narrowed to Thomas’ mouth, Thomas’ hands, his breath mixing with his. It was earth-shattering, it knocked the air right out him, the world shifting under him like he was standing on shifting sands. Being kissed like this was something James didn’t think he’d ever be able to give up. It was more addictive than alcohol, than sailing, than anything else he’d done in his life. Thomas’ hand had settled on the back of his neck, his thumb softly stroking. James sank back into the couch, going boneless beneath Thomas’ warmth. 

Thomas’ hand slid around and down to settle on his shirt front, playing with the haphazardly refastened buttons. His other was gripping his bicep for balance. He pulled back to rest their foreheads together, their noses brushing. “Do you really want to discuss our plans?” 

“Yes,” James said, his owns hands traveling up and down the planes of Thomas’ back, “but perhaps not at this exact moment.” He chased Thomas’ lips, trying to kiss back with the same mix of tenderness and hunger. He let his hands tangle in Thomas’ hair, grateful the other had forgone the wig that night. 

Thomas kissed back, matching James’ pace and motions. He didn’t try to deepen it or speed it along. It did something funny to his insides, that level of consideration. The gentle kissing was intoxicating in a way that James had never imagined. But there was something to be said for the other kind of kissing. 

His hands moved to Thomas face, drawing up to kiss him harder, desperate and hungry. He nipped at Thomas’ bottom lip, making him gasp, and pulled back to grin at him. Thomas smiling down at him, his eyes twinkling, “you’re taking this in stride better than I expected,” he said softly. 

“I got most of my panic out of my system during my walk, I think.” 

He kissed Thomas again, he was insatiable, he couldn’t get enough, of the taste, of the feel of Thomas. Thomas met him kiss for kiss - and it made James’ head spin - the world falling away yet again, lost in the all encompassing feeling of Thomas. As they kissed, his eyes fluttered open and he caught Thomas looking past him. He didn’t have to turn to know that he was looking at the set of double-doors that led to the master bedroom. The door would be ajar, the overly large bed that lay within just visible through the opening. 

James broke the kiss, his head falling back to stare at the ceiling. He’d dreamed of getting his hands on Thomas, of kissing him and of holding him. Somehow, he’d never thought of what would inevitably follow. Of a bed, and the two of them, and what that would undoubtedly entail. He also hadn’t considered that it would likely be that bed, the bed Thomas shared with Miranda. Their marriage bed, a bed James didn’t have a place in. 

“James,” Thomas whispered and he realized too late that he’d spent too long staring at the ceiling, silent and remote. He had moved his hand from where it had been caressing James’ side to brush his hair away from his face and then to down to cup his jaw. He leaned into it, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“That doesn’t have to be for tonight, darling,” Thomas said, “we can retire to your usual room, or you can retire there alone. I know you and Miranda have been avoiding it.”

James face burned and prickled at being read so easily. Thomas had seen his hesitation, if not the reason for it, and immediately moved to reassure. What had he done to deserve him? Or Miranda for that matter? He had to admit, taking Thomas back to his guest room appealed to him, and god what kind of logic was that? A bed was a bed, but somehow the idea of going to their bed was different. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine - just. Maybe we can save that room, for when Miranda is with us?” he said, his voice rougher than he’d expected, and Thomas was still above him, just watching him. 

“Of course,” Thomas said after a long moment, “we can do, or not do, whatever you like James. We don’t have to make it to that bed, or any bed. I rarely let myself dream we’d get even this far. We can stop now, if you like. Say goodnight and and forget any of this happened tomorrow.”

In some sane, well-ordered universe where James remembered to care about his standing in the Navy, to care about the reputation he was risking, about any of that, he would slide out of from under Thomas and walk away. In this sane world he’d say_ goodnight Thomas, I hope we can continue to be friends. _

And it would be the reasonable, pragmatic thing to do. They were going to have enough trouble with Alfred Hamilton without adding this new level of complication. It made sense it was what any sane man would do. What didn’t make sense, was what he actually did in this non-sane but real universe. He pulled Thomas down to him, and nudged at his mouth until it opened to him, and they were kissing again. He felt the moment when Thomas fully gave in to it, his body going boneless and folding down and onto him. 

“You know,” James whispered, “the bed in my room is almost as large as yours.” 

Thomas’ breath in his ear was warm, his voice wicked, “is it now? Will you prove it to me?” 

James laughed softly and seized Thomas’ mouth in his. He knew he wouldn’t stop kissing him this time, not until they reached his room until they’d both gotten what they wanted out of this. Maybe he wouldn’t stop kissing him even after, maybe he never would. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! It should be up by this weekend. 
> 
> This story is going to remain a pre-canon, but I’m heavily considering doing a another chaptered fic covering canon era that would end up being a fix-it. If there’s any interest in that?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one! This one gets more plot-y and angsty.

* * *

James woke to the sounds of boots on the deck above him, to the call of seagulls and to men’s voices shouting. He was tempted to ignore it, to roll over and try to find his way back to sleep, but he knew he shouldn’t. If his judgment of their speed and trajectory last night was correct, and it most certainly was, the commotion above was the sound of his ship sailing into London’s harbor.

He rolled out of bed and tugged his boots on. He’d slept fully dressed, a useful habit while aboard a ship. It was always a possibility his crew would need him at odd hours, if a storm beset them or if sails were spotted. Lives had been spared in the past by the seconds saved when time wasn’t wasted getting dressed.

Straightening his clothing and fixing his hair was quick work and he paused in front of his mirror, eyeing the beard he’d let grow while in Nassau. He’d told Thomas and Miranda once that he, and many sailors, let them grow while they were at sea and then shaved them when they returned home. Navy men rarely looked respectable when they weren’t at home or in ports where they were forced to be. Both his lovers had been curious, had requested he return to them unshaved so they could see him with a beard. He’d laughed off the request and changed the subject with no real intention to acquiesce.

And yet, as he stood there and stroked his beard, he wondered if they would like it. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss them, his coarse beard against their smooth skin. He was anxious to return to them. It was an odd feeling, having a home to return to. He’d spent what felt like his entire life in the Navy, his home had always been a series of ships. For him, London was just another port, another stop on a journey.

Until now, until Miranda and Thomas. Now, coming into this port felt like coming home. In the end, he strode from his cabin, his hair tied back and his beard trimmed but still there.

* * *

“There you are.”

Thomas looked up from his papers to the sight of James striding towards him. He must have come straight from the docks: his hair was windswept, his face tan and freckled from his time in the tropics. Thinking of his face, Thomas found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the neatly trimmed beard lining his jaw. It was a brighter shade of red than his hair, streaked with bits of gold.

“Here I am,” he said, and he wished that the servants lingering in the room and the entryway beyond would disappear so that he could take James into his arms and greet him properly. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, bury his face in his neck, and kiss him on the lips, not necessarily in that order. He did none of those things. Instead, he offered his hand and let James grasp it, and if their hold lasted longer than was the norm, he did not care.

“How was New Providence? Did seeing it firsthand give you the insight you hoped?”

“Yes and no,” James released his hand and reached up to remove his hat. He set it down and then removed his coat and sword belt. It always undid something in Thomas when James so clearly set aside his Naval trappings and made himself at home here in his house. It was as if removing the trappings put away the Lieutenant and left only the man standing before him. He cleared his throat before he did something ridiculous like throw himself at James, and turned to the maid hovering in the background.

“Theresa? Will you please take the Lieutenant’s things to his room and then let Miranda know he has returned to us?”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, hurrying forward to pick up the coat and hat. She hesitated over the sword, glancing shyly at James.

He nodded to her, “it’s alright. Or if you prefer, I’ll stow it later.”

Thomas watched as Theresa hesitated a moment longer before squaring her shoulders and picking up the sword. She offered them both a quick curtsy before leaving the room to do as he’d asked. The servants nearby all found somewhere else to be, exchanging sly glances. Thomas was lucky, he knew, to have servants fond enough of him to keep their gossip within the house and nowhere else.

Finally alone, Thomas stepped closer to James. “I missed you,” he said, and James smiled and pulled him into his arms. He sighed, nuzzling into James’ neck and jaw, a knot he hadn’t noticed in his chest loosening. He and Miranda had rarely been apart since they married, he’d never been separated so long from someone he loved before. He found he didn’t care for it, even if the distance did indeed make the heart grow fonder. He pulled back, grinning at James, “your beard tickles.”

James looked amused, the lines around his eyes crinkling, “you like it?”

“I do,” he said and leaned down to kiss him, “but I think we both know who the final arbiter on whether it stays will be.”

“Boys,” as if summoned by the mention Miranda’s voice rang into the room, “haven’t I told you to take more care than this?”

They separated to look at her. She was standing just inside the now shut door, hands on her hips, a mock scowl on her face.

James crossed the room to her, taking one of her hands and bowing low over it. James wouldn’t be able to see from his position, but Thomas had the perfect view of the way her expression melted into something soft and wistful. They’d both missed him these last few months. James straightened up and leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks before finding her lips.

“Welcome home, darling,” Miranda said once he pulled away, reaching a hand out to Thomas in invitation. He joined them, clasping her hand in his and resting his other on James’ shoulder.

“I wish I could steal you both away and keep you all to myself,” she continued, “but Peter and his wife are joining us for dinner.”

Thomas sighed, in his joy at seeing James returned to them he’d quite forgotten everything else. He glanced at him, “you will join us? And stay the night?”

He found himself holding his breath as they waited for James to answer. He wasn’t sure he could bear to part again, not so soon after laying eyes on him.

“Yes, I can stay,” James said after a moment, “Peter should hear the news of Nassau as well. I have a meeting with Hennessy tomorrow afternoon but I’m all yours until then.”

He and Miranda exchanged a grin.

“If you retire first,” Miranda said, knowing full-well that James often signaled the end of the night by going to bed first in a way they could not as the hosts. It was an effective maneuver that often had their other guests taking his cue and excusing themselves soon after, “you should find your way to the master bedroom and await us there.”

James flushed but covered it by leaning over to kiss first her and then him, “are you certain?” he asked when he pulled back.

In the time since they’d all become lovers, they’d continued to avoid that room. Neither he nor Miranda fully understood James’ hesitance with it but they hadn’t forced the issue. They could see that it held some significance to him, that inviting him to it was different from inviting him to any other bed, and it was a gesture they’d discussed offering him the entire time he’d been gone. It felt right to do it now, to celebrate his return by conquering this last piece of him he’d held separate.

“We’re certain, if you are,” Miranda was saying, her hand cupping James’ face, tender in a way she only was with them.

“Yes,” he whispered, nudging his cheek into her hand, “_Yes_.”

Unable to resist the vulnerability written across his lover’s face any longer Thomas slotted himself further into his side, kissing James’ other cheek and capturing him between him and Miranda.

“Come here,” Miranda said, and then she and James were kissing, quietly and desperately. Thomas watched from up close, brushing his nose in the coarse hair of James’ beard. He shifted to wrap his arms around them both, the heat of their bodies warm against him.

Miranda turned to kiss him then, their mouths meeting in a familiar dance as James shuddered between them. He always returned to them a bit touch-starved, he held himself so far apart from everyone else, separate from even platonic touches. It made him all the more hungry for them when they were together.

They traded kisses between the three of them like that for a while, in no hurry for it to move further or for them to go anywhere. All too soon, they could hear the sounds of the servants moving around with renewed purpose. It must be getting close to dinner time, he could hear the sound of pots and pans in the distance. James was the first to disentangle himself, stepping back to fall into one of the armchairs sitting nearby. He did all this without opening his eyes, and Thomas couldn’t ignore the rush of satisfaction he felt at the proof of how well James knew this room, this home.

“We should go get ready,” he said reluctantly.

“We should,” James murmured, collapsing fully into the chair, head falling back gracelessly. He looked ready to fall asleep rather than get up and get ready for dinner.

Thomas glanced helplessly over at Miranda, who was no help at all as she smirked at him and shrugged.

“James, don’t you want to wash off the salt at least?” he tried after a moment.

“Mm hm,” he rumbled, “didn’t care for the taste?”

Thomas rolled his eyes, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

Miranda moved to stand behind the chair, her hands landing on James’ shoulders and massaging. She made a cooing sound, one Thomas’ brain was hardwired to respond to.

“You are exhausted,” she said as James went boneless under her hands, “can you stay awake through dinner?”

His eyes fluttered open, “I’ll manage somehow.”

Thomas could stand being apart from them no longer and moved to kneel in front of James, crossing his arms over James’ thighs and resting his chin there to look up at them both. They blinked down at him, James in confusion and Miranda in delight.

“It’s just Peter,” he reasoned, “he won’t care if we’re not perfectly presentable. And I tire of being the sole voice of reason, it doesn’t suit me.”

James’ hand found his hair, stroking through the strands and massaging his scalp. He let his eyes fall shut.

Peter wouldn’t mind, they could stay right here until he arrived. They could savor this rare, quiet moment until then. And they did.

* * *

Dinner was quiet and restrained to polite small talk, the kind that bored Miranda. But, drinks in the salon were much more engaging. In proper social circles, this was when the men and the women would separate. The women to drink in a lounge while the men smoked cigars with their drinks and talked business in another room. The two parties would eventually reunite for a shared nightcap at the end. She and Thomas only followed the practice when they had company that would expect it - she hated missing the business talk and Thomas abhorred cigars.

Peter may be the sort to prefer that practice, but he knew them well enough not to expect it here. He only put up a token protest when they moved to the salon and it became apparent Miranda had no intention of departing with his wife, Alicia. Thomas and James exchanged an amused look that she ignored as she tugged Alicia to sit with her on the love seat, leaving the men to spread out between the couch and the armchairs.

They all still had their drinks from dinner but Thomas, ever the proper host, moved to the drink cart. “Would anyone like a refill or fresh drink?” he asked as topped off his drink and reached for the wine decanter.

When no one spoke, he glanced up and towards her, waving the decanter in a silent question.

She thought about it, drawing out the moment playfully, before nodding and raising her glass a bit.

He ambled over and dutifully topped off her wine, doing the same for Alicia when she offered her glass.

James had settled in the armchair, and raised his glass of brandy in a toast when she caught his gaze. He hadn’t sought a top-off and it was probably for the best, he’d been quiet through dinner. Just the wrong-side of tired and laconic for it. She’d seen his eyes fluttering shut over dessert and had worried he’d fall asleep there on the spot.

“I suppose it’s time to discuss New Providence, then?” Peter asked as Thomas replaced the decanter and moved to join him on the couch.

James came a bit more alive at the mention, sitting up straighter in his chair. “It was as expected when I arrived. The governor had control in show, but the pirates held the real power.”

“And when you left?” She asked, there had been rumors of unrest in the area, even here in London, and James had returned weeks earlier than he’d told them to expect him. He hadn’t spoken of it yet, but she suspected something had happened to encourage his early return.

He sighed, a hand rubbing his face as he frowned down at his drink. “I’m not sure how it got started, I was on the ship at the time, but the pirates revolted.” He looked up, looking around the room to meet each of their gazes in turn. “The governor and his entire family were reported as killed. The island is entirely under pirate rule now. We were forced to leave, our ship quite outnumbered by the pirates.”

“Damn,” Thomas murmured, his shoulders raised in a tense line.

Beside her, Alicia swayed a bit on the spot, her already pale face drained of what color it had. “The governor had children, didn’t he?” She asked, her grip around her wine glass so tight Miranda could see her knuckles turning white.

James tossed back the rest of his brandy, “two sons, neither taller than my shoulder.”

He’d met them then, Miranda realized. Suddenly she wondered if this was why he was so tired, why there were dark circles under his eyes and new lines across his forehead.

Peter jumped to his feet, pacing around the room in strides full of anger. “Damn them,” he muttered, “they make asking for pardons impossible.”

“Harder, yes,” Thomas said, he remained seated, his face lined with grief for a man and his family that he’d never met, “but not impossible.”

Peter whipped around on him, his eyes wide and bit crazed, “you cannot be serious Thomas. The colony is out of English hands, they killed the governor! And you think anyone will want to offer them pardons after what they’ve done?”

“Peter,” James broke in, his tone mild but his expression anything but, “sit down and take a breath.”

Peter looked between him and Thomas, perhaps expecting Thomas to countermand James, he waited for two full beats and then sat down when it became clear Thomas would not.

“My apologies,” he offered first to Thomas and then to Alicia and her, “I did not mean to raise my voice, it does not befit a man of my station.”

Miranda frowned at the slight, glancing over at James, but he waved her off. She discovered a new level of hate for the resigned twist to his mouth, the way his eyes told her it wasn’t worth taking offense to. He did so much to defend her and Thomas and yet never expected them to return the favor.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something in spite of his wishes, Thomas spoke.

“Peter,” his tone of voice was a clear chide even if he didn’t put the reason behind the scolding to words. He didn’t have to, “we are all friends here, are we not? We should be able to discuss our plans civilly.”

“I - yes, of course, you are right,”

“Good. Now, let’s discuss tactics for convincing White Hall that pardons are still the best way to get the pirates to lay down arms.”

* * *

They crept into the room, both of them relaxing once they spotted James sprawled across the bed. They’d both been afraid he’d retired to his usual room despite their earlier request, given the tense conversation in the salon. Instead, he was here, in their room and in their bed. He’d stripped down to just his trousers, hair loose and tousled, his face buried in a pillow.

Thomas glanced at Miranda, finding a speculative look on her face. She placed a hand on his elbow, drawing him back through the doors. They stayed just outside it, both of their gazes transfixed on James’ sleeping form.

“I think we should let him rest a bit longer,” she whispered, “he needs the sleep.”

He nodded reluctantly. Their plan had been to wake him, to spend as much of the night as possible celebrating their reunion, but it was apparent now that he needed to sleep more.

“He’s a heavy sleeper,” Thomas reminded her, eyeing the still-lit candles and oil lamps in the room, “we could pass the time with him.”

She smiled, leading the way back into the room. He followed her, easing onto the bed on James’ right side while Miranda walked over to her dressing table and began to take off her jewelry and let down her hair. He settled back more comfortably only to find something sharp poking him in the back, with a frown he fumbled around and found a book. It was James’ copy of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, the one he’d inscribed and gifted to him before he’d left for Nassau. James must have been reading it when he fell asleep.

He looked up and caught Miranda’s knowing gaze in the mirror. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, filled to the brim with love for the man softly snoring beside him. James shifted in his sleep, rolling over to curl into Thomas’ side. He released a breath, one hand falling to stroke James’ hair while the other carefully opened the book so he could read.

They gave up on waiting for him to wake on his own a while later when Miranda was dressed in her nightgown and Thomas had left the bed long enough to change into his nightshirt.

“He’s slept enough, for now, I think,” Miranda declared as she dropped onto the bed beside James. He grunted and burrowed further into the pillows he’d replaced Thomas with when he’d left the bed, “five more minutes,” came the muffled voice.

“We missed you,” Miranda laid down across his back, her fingers finding his hair and tugging lightly, “pay attention to us, James.”

“In five minutes, I’ll do anything you ask.” Miranda’s laugh was loud and pleased, and James’ attempt to squirm away was thwarted when she simply plastered herself to him and wound her arms around him. “He’s not going to listen to me,” Miranda said, “Thomas, come over here and help.”

“I don’t know, I rather like the view from here,” he said, watching her try to cuddle a resisting James was like watching her try to stroke a snarling tiger. Only his wife would feel confident enough to try such a thing. “Thomas,” Miranda said, “come lay beside us.”

It was a tone that wouldn’t be argued with and so he moved to do as requested, laying on the bed beside them. Miranda left off antagonizing James and moved to straddle his lap, “take your time waking, James,” she said, “Thomas and I will entertain ourselves.”

He ran his hands up her back, kissed her shoulder, her collar bone. “I think I’d like to ride you,” she told him, grinding her hips against his until they were both gasping.

“This is a nice way to wake up,” James had rolled over and was watching them through narrowed eyes. Thomas reached out with his nearest hand, gratified when James caught it and brought it to his lips.

“I’m enjoying the show,” James started, inching closer until he was pressed up against them. He propped himself up, kissing his way down Miranda’s closest arm, his eyes open and fixed on them, “and I was wondering, if I had a request, would that be okay?”

“Have we ever refused you?” Miranda whispered.

“Yes, well, this is a bit different from our usual,” James answered, with a glance at him. His eyes were grave, and the evening fell away from him, and suddenly Thomas was standing in his dining room again, discovering what being kissed by James, being held by James felt like.

“Tell us what you want,” he said, curious at what had his lover so unsure. The three of them had slept together many times since that night in the dining room, both as pairs and altogether, and he struggled to guess what James’ request might be.

“I want...” James trailed off, his voice soft and groggy from sleep. “I want to be the one watching.” Thomas felt his eyebrows raise, glancing up to look at Miranda. It was true, now that he thought about it, that in all their encounters before he and Miranda had focused their attention on James, either taking turns or keeping him in the center of them. It hadn’t occurred to him, or to her apparently, that James might want to watch the two of them. It hadn’t been a conscious choice, they’d both just been so enamored with James that they had saved their own couplings for when he was away.

The corner of Miranda’s mouth quirked just a little and he turned back to find James still watching them, his form tense and wound up like he was half expecting to get kicked out of the bed. Thomas hoped that one day, he’d stop looking like that when he was with them. That he’d trust in their love for him enough to stop expecting to be spurned away at any moment.

“If that’s what you want,” Thomas said, throat dry as Miranda began to move above him again, her hips grounding down.

“That’s what I want,” James answered, “I want to watch, please let me.”

“Of course, my darling,” Miranda said, “you only had to ask.”

She turned back to him then, a wicked gleam in her gaze, “shall we give him a proper show, my love? You make such lovely noises, and James has always liked to hear them.”

And that was the thing about Miranda - she was very rarely unable to back up her words. Something she proved once again as she reached between them to shift their clothes out of the way, her hand finding and wrapping around his cock. He gasped, his back arching up, his hands clenching in the sheets. His eyes fell shut as she followed the arch of his throat with hot kisses punctuated by words he could barely make out. But that was okay, they were meant for James.

“He’s not even inside me yet, he doesn’t even need it. I could get him off with just my hands and mouth,” she was saying, her own breath growing ragged. Thomas heard James shudder and pried his eyes open to see. He was sprawled out on his back beside them, a hand pressing against his crotch, his head turned to watch them. He wasn’t prepared for what the sight of James like that did to him.

“Please,” Thomas choked out and he didn’t know which one of them he was pleading to. Miranda’s hand on him shifted, guiding him inside and seating herself fully in one roll of her hips. He shuddered, his hips thrusting up to meet her. James rolled closer, on his stomach now, his own hips hitching against the bed for friction as his hands reached out to them.

Thomas rolled his head to the side, nuzzling into James’ hand, his eyes finding James' and fixing there as Miranda had her way with him.

“James,” she panted, “touch me.” He watched as James’ free hand maneuvered under her nightgown, reaching between where Thomas’ hips were joined with hers. Miranda gasped above him, her hands planting on his shoulders and gripping tight as she shuddered. He felt every shiver, every clench of her muscles and it created a feedback loop between James’ hand, her reaction to it, and his own resulting pleasure.

“Will you come for me?” James whispered.

“Not yet,” Miranda said, “it will take more than - more than that - I need.”

“Tell me,” James sat up, leaning forward to press his face into her shoulder. Miranda’s hips rolled faster and Thomas arched up to meet her pace, his vision whiting out for a second.

“Please, James,” Miranda was saying, “please just kiss me.” Thomas didn’t have to look up to know he’d complied, he could hear the noises they were muffling in each other’s mouths, his own noises louder for lack of it.

“I, Yes,” Miranda gasped, “just like that, oh, _Christ_.” She clenched around him, her body writhing with ecstasy. He thrust up faster, helping her over the edge and tumbling after.

“You - oh God - Miranda -“ Thomas groaned, his eyes had fallen shut, he’d given up on trying to keep his eyes on his lovers. Her warm body collapsed on top of him as he finished, his arms automatically rising to wrap around her. The bed shook as James flopped down beside them, his shoulder pressed against Thomas’.

He forced his eyes open, turning his head to find James. He was flat on his back again, staring at the ceiling and ignoring the evidence of his own desire.

“James?” He turned to Thomas then, his green eyes open to half-mast and unfocused.

“Did you like watching?” he murmured.

“Fuck, yes,” James said, his voice sounded like it was coming from behind clenched teeth and the tension in his jaw lent Thomas to believe it was so.

Miranda was still sprawled across him and showed no sign of moving anytime soon. He carefully slid her off to the side and crawled over to James who was beginning to shift.

“No, stay there,” he said and James stilled, “let me.”

“I don’t- “

“Hush, let me help.”

He crawled over James until he was straddling his waist, leaning down to kiss him. He nipped at his bottom lip before trailing lower down James’ neck and bare chest and abdomen. He was tempted to linger there and tease, but judging by the hitch in James’ breathing and the way his hips seemed to be moving with a mind of their own, that would be cruel. He unlaced James’ pants and pushed them down, and above him James shuddered, his hands moving to tangle in Thomas’ hair. He was so worked up he was breathing in and out quickly, his breath hitching and his body shuddering with it. Thomas wasn’t surprised that getting his mouth on him was all it took to finish him, James was that keyed up from watching them. Within seconds he was coming and Thomas swallowed him, swallowed all of it.

“I’m sorry, I meant to warn you,” James whispered, his hands gentle as they brushed at Thomas' cheeks. He leaned back letting James’ soft cock slip from his mouth and then he crawled back up to collapse on top of him. Arms wound around him, and he tucked his face into James’ neck, “it’s alright, no apologies, and no shame, remember?” he murmured.

The bed shifted as Miranda finally moved, her body curling into their sides, her toes tucking under their twisted legs and her hand on Thomas’ lower back.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” James breathed from under him.

“Oh, but what a way to go,” Miranda murmured while Thomas limited his response to a series of kisses on James’ neck and jaw.

* * *

“No,” Miranda said, “No, absolutely not.”

James stared at the wall just past her shoulder, “Miranda,” he tried, “I’m going to be late to meet with Hennessy at this rate. Will you please just tell Thomas I won’t make it back for dinner?”

“I said no and I meant it,” Miranda put her hands on her hips. Her eyes wouldn’t stop looking at him, wouldn’t stop imploring him to see her side of things. “If I have to suffer through a surprise visit from Alfred Hamilton, so do you.”

“I have no idea when I’ll be done with the Admiralty,” James pointed out, “I have much to report. Do you really want to antagonize Alfred with my presence?”

“Do you really want to leave me and Thomas to handle him alone?”

James shook his head, he’d never been able to lie to her or to Thomas. Not about anything that mattered. “No,” he said, “the idea of him around either of you for any length of time makes my skin crawl. But he’s Thomas’ father, and he’s too powerful to be banned from doing as he likes.”

He watched Miranda absorb that, her hands falling away from her hips, her expression going tight with sudden understanding. “You’re worried that you’ll lose your temper with him again,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to defend us from every slight James. Neither of us cares what he thinks.”

Somehow, James doubted that. The last time they’d dined with Alfred was burned into his memory. The sight of Miranda biting her tongue and refusing to meet his or Thomas’ gaze when he’d never seen her back down from anyone else. The resigned slump to Thomas’ shoulders, the way he’d flinched minutely when Alfred had raised his voice. They claimed they didn’t care, and he suspected they tried hard not to, but they did. It did matter and not just because Alfred Hamilton had the power to make their lives difficult.

“Look,” James said, “I need to go or I’ll be unconscionably late.”

“Agree to come back for dinner and you may go.”

“Miranda -“ James ran a hand over his head, wishing his hair wasn’t tied back so he could properly run his fingers through it. “We both know it’s best if I’m not present,” he tried.

“We don’t both know that,” she said, “I’d feel better with you there and I suspect Thomas would agree with me.”

“And if he insults you both again? If I lose my temper and do something worse than ask him to leave?”

“He likely will, and you won’t. Because I’m asking you to be there and to not lose your temper.”

“Fine,” James said, and beneath his frustration, a resigned kind of exhaustion was setting in. He and Miranda had never come close to arguing before and he found he didn’t care for it. “Fine, I’ll try and be back for dinner, okay? But I can’t promise anything - if Hennessy wants a long debrief or if he decides we need to discuss my report with the other admirals.”

“Can I trust you won’t invent a reason not to return?” She asked, and he stared at her, his mouth lax.

“What’s going on here?” Thomas asked as he descended the stairs, a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. “James? I thought you’d left already.”

And now Thomas was here too. He was going to be late and he would never hear the end of his tardiness. Hennessy was a punctual person by nature and that trait had only been exasperated by his time in the Navy. He expected the same standard of all his men, and of him especially. James rubbed at his forehead, shut his eyes. “I should have, yes.” He said and he tried to keep his voice light, “I’m courting an official reprimand as is... alright Miranda? I need to leave now.”

“He was trying to get out of coming back for dinner,” Miranda told Thomas, not moving away from her position blocking the front door and not acknowledging James’ words to her, “and using his meeting with Hennessy as an excuse to get out of the conversation.”

Thomas looked between the two of them for a moment, his brow furrowed. “And you’re arguing over this? Why?”

“We’re not arguing,” Miranda said.

“I don’t know,” James said.

Thomas hummed, “how behind schedule are you, James?”

He glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the entryway, “with travel time accounted for, I’ll be almost an hour late if I leave right this moment.”

“That won’t do,” Thomas said, placing his papers down on a side table and sipping his tea, “but I think I have a solution.”

James sighed and looked down at the hat he was holding but hadn’t put on yet. “Let’s hear it then,” he said quietly. Miranda drew closer but didn’t give up her position between him and the door.

He was surprised at the warm feeling in his gut, at the way he was at once frustrated with her and also pleased she would go to such lengths to win his company for the night.

“I’ll send a messenger to Hennessy and make some excuse for why you can’t attend the meeting,” Thomas said, his words coming slow as if he was making sense of his plan as he spoke, “and invite him to dine with us instead. His presence will hopefully restrain my father’s worst tendencies and they can both hear your report on Nassau at the same time.”

“A splendid idea,” Miranda said, taking another step forward and twining her arm through Thomas’, “we kill two birds with one stone this way. What do you think, James?”

They both looked at him, each with a raised eyebrow. He felt his lips turn up in a smile he was helpless to resist at the sight. That was proof of how much time they spent together, that their expression so closely mirrored the other’s.

“We’d better come up with a good excuse,” he said finally.

Thomas tipped back the rest of his tea, “let’s adjourn to the study and I’ll have Theresa send for a messenger.”

He and Miranda strolled past him, Thomas’ frown said he was focused on finding an excuse that would work and Miranda’s smile was playfully smug. James set his hat on the table next to Thomas’ abandoned papers and shrugged out of his naval coat, draping it over his arm.

“James?” Thomas’ voice drifted back to him, “don’t tarry, my love.”

With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, James managed not to roll his eyes. Instead, he said, “I’m right behind you,” and moved to follow them up the stairs.

* * *

The sitting room was tense and Thomas, for once, wasn’t sure how to relieve it.

The delay in sending a message meant it likely hadn’t arrived until long after the time James had been meant to meet with Hennessy. And while Thomas had yet to meet this particular Admiral, he knew enough from James to know that he’d have been in a towering rage by then. And there were only two responses to the situation he judged an Admiral would have: he would either storm into the estate and yell at all of three of them or he would be coldly polite and save his anger for when he could get James alone. Thomas was prepared for both, but he knew which outcome he preferred.

What he wasn’t prepared for, what he hadn’t predicted, was what actually happened.

He wasn’t sure whether his Father or Admiral Hennessy would arrive first. If this hadn’t been a spur of the moment plan he would have staggered their arrival times, diffused one tense meeting at a time. But needs must, and they were left waiting with bated breath to see who would be the first to be escorted into the formal sitting room. Miranda was perched on the window seat, a book long forgotten at her side. She was the most outwardly calm of them, her face serene as she looked out at the gardens. Thomas and James were standing by the fireplace, their shoulders brushing but not speaking or looking each other in the eye.

In the end, they heard them long before they saw them. Thomas could make out the sound of his butler protesting, the sound of his Lord father responding in anger, and the collective sound of a large group of men approaching.

Beside him James tensed, turning sharply to face the doorway.

“Thomas,” he murmured, “he has armed men with him.”

“What? How can you tell?”

James glanced at him, shifting slightly so he was between Thomas and the doorway. “I can hear it in their tread, it’s very distinct.”

Before Thomas could pursue that intriguing skill, his father appeared in the doorway. The man beside him could only be Admiral Hennessy and behind them were a mix of Navy men and his father’s security force.

“I-“ he started, but his throat clenched shut, because idealist and optimist he may be, but he knew his father showing up with a show of force like this was not a good sign. He glanced back at Miranda and then over to James, and for the first time, it occurred to him how very much he had to lose.

Alfred’s scowl burned right through him, pinned him in place and stole what words he’d begun to say. Beside him, James took two strides forward, placing himself more firmly and more blatantly between Thomas and Miranda and the others. He didn’t say anything though, and Thomas found himself watching the tension coil in James’ shoulders, watching his hands clench into fists.

“We had planned to confront you separately,” Alfred said, “but perhaps it’s more fitting to do this all at once. Your campaign for pardons, your foolhardy plan for Nassau, ends today. And it ends on my terms.”

Thomas swallowed, searching for his voice. He didn’t manage it before Hennessy added his own.

“I expected you to know better James. You’ve ruined your promising career over...” he trailed off, his already grim face twisting, “your unfortunate predilections.”

“My unfortunate predilections,” James said, his voice quiet and more terrifying for it. It was the kind of quiet that happened just before a storm, when you could hear the distant rumble of oncoming thunder, “and what, pray tell, would those be?”

Hennessy scoffed, “don’t make me put such vile acts to word.”

“Oh, I think you should.” Miranda appeared at his side, her hand winding down to grip his, her touch cool and clammy. “If only to ensure there are no misunderstandings.”

Hennessy didn’t spare her a glance.

“Do you think I don’t know everything that goes on in my house?” Alfred asked, his upper lip twisting with scorn as he surveyed them. “Do you think I don’t know what the three of you do behind closed doors? I could have Thomas thrown out of White Hall in disgrace and him brought up on charges of sodomy and hanged.”

It was his father’s refusal to say James’ name that freed Thomas’ tongue, that put fire in his belly. “Father - I don’t know what you think you can do, White Hall has been calling me mad for years and they’ve never gone through with ousting me. Why should this be any different? And as for James, you try to charge him with anything and I’ll start spilling some of your own dirty secrets.”

When his father’s response was a smile, something cold and wary trickled down his spine.

“Which is why that won’t be what happens next,” Alfred said, “as your father, I’m having you committed to Bedlam for treatment. I’m afraid you’ve gone quite mad now that you’ve discovered your wife’s affair with your best friend.”

Beside him, Miranda gasped, her grip on his hand so tight it was painful.

“And what happens to James is not your decision,” Hennessy broke in, glaring first at Thomas and then at Alfred. He was surprised to see that the Admiral was at least as angry with Alfred as with them. “He will be stripped of his rank and exiled, never to return to England or her colonies lest he face the gallows.”

In front of them, James flinched.

Hennessy looked to James, and some of his anger fell away to reveal the kind of bone-deep weariness Thomas was accustomed to seeing in much older men. “The official charge won’t be sodomy, but that’s all I can do for you, James. You had to know what you were risking. And all for him? Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” James said without hesitating, “it was. But, I have a counter offer.”

Alfred snorted, “you think you’re in a position to negotiate?”

“James,” Thomas whispered, but he didn’t look back at Thomas and his feeling of foreboding grew stronger.

“Pin the pardons on me,” James spoke quickly, his hands unclenching and clenching at this sides, “blame it all on my bad influence. I’m an upstart Lieutenant from modest means who grew too ambitious and I dragged them down with me. It’s a story everyone will believe. Blame me, exile me, but leave Thomas and Miranda be. They’ll drop our plans and I’ll disappear. I’ll never darken their doorstep, or any doorstep, again.”

“No, James,” Miranda said and she moved to go to him. Thomas pulled her back, tucking her into his side. She hit at his chest, glaring up at him with tears in her eyes.

His warning look stilled her and he turned in time to see a shudder go through James’ frame. He scrambled to think of a better plan. One that didn’t involve James martyring himself- an eventuality he should have foreseen once it became apparent what was happening. Of course, James was trying to sacrifice himself for them. He’d always believed he was superfluous, that he wasn’t as integral to Thomas or Miranda as they were to each other. He may have shed his shame, but he hadn’t shaken off his insecurities.

Thomas had failed him in this. He hadn’t told James often enough, or ardently enough, that he was essential to them. That he was irreplaceable. He’d thought they had more time, that they had a lifetime to convince James of his own worth, of their unending love for him.

“Perhaps if this was the first time my ungrateful son pulled something like this, I would accept your offer,” Alfred said. He spoke regretfully- as if what he was doing caused him profound grief. Thomas knew it was false, but it sounded genuine. “however, my son has a history of being a revolutionary. He would just take up with a new sodomite and a new harebrained scheme, and I would be right back in this situation. No, we will do this my way.”

Thomas bristled at the implication that James could ever be replaced. “Hold on,” Thomas tried, “I’m sure we can come to some other agreement. I’ll agree to parrot whatever plan for New Providence you want me to, surely that is enough to prevent any drastic actions.”

“No,” Alfred said, gesturing to the men. They spilled further into the room, their hands on their pistols and swords. They hadn’t drawn yet, but it was apparent they were ready to should they put up a fight.

Miranda tensed against him and he hugged her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. He wished they’d listened to her, that they’d proposed their plan sans the pardons. Perhaps then, they wouldn’t be in this position.

“Wait, father, please,” he said, desperation bringing him to speak without considering his words, his mind racing and his mouth barely keeping up. “Exile us all. Don’t condemn me to Bedlam and don’t shame our family name with such a scandalous sentence. We’ll disappear, you won’t hear from us ever again. Choose one of my brothers as your heir and White Hall will forget I ever existed.”

His father paused and Thomas grew more confident, “say we wanted to be on the ground in Nassau. You can even say we got tragically killed by pirates on the way there, you can spin it to your favor, you know you can. Please, let us all leave together.” Alfred and Hennessy exchanged a look, and Thomas held his breath. He allowed himself to hope, to pray they could achieve an outcome where they would be together. He could bear anything, if James and Miranda were safe at his side.

“I and my men could escort them to a ship,” Hennessy said, “ensure they get on one that’ll carry them far enough away. I had planned to escort James once it was dark, anyway.”

Alfred hummed, glancing between them all, “and what assurance do I have that you won’t return? That you won’t cause trouble even from a distance?”

“You think I want anything further to do with a society that would see me imprisoned, and those I love banished or killed, for something as simple as daring to find love in an unconventional way?” Thomas scoffed, “you can trust me not to return to such a hateful place, to not risk Miranda’s or James’ lives any further.”

“Please father,” he tried again when he could see Alfred being swayed, “if you ever cared for me, please let us leave together.”

For a moment the room was silent, as they all waited to hear what Alfred would decide. “Pack what you can carry with you,” he said finally, “Hennessy will escort you to a ship heading to New Providence. You can be the pirates’ problem now. You are all dead after today, I will not abide hearing of a Hamilton or a McGraw causing trouble in the New World. Do you understand?”

Thomas swallowed, “Yes, I understand.” Alfred nodded, his face tight with an emotion Thomas couldn’t read. Then he shook his head and turned to Hennessy, “you can take it from here?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

His father nodded and without another backward look he was gone, his men following him.

Thomas sagged into Miranda, feeling her stumble under his weight. She pressed back into him, her frame wracked with minute shivers.

“James, my boy,” Hennessy started to say but stopped when James held up a hand.

Instead of responding to Hennessy James turned on his heel to face them. With his back to the others, with only Thomas and Miranda able to see, his mask cracked. Thomas flinched at the naked pain on his face, at the desperate hope there too. The reality of their situation was beginning to set in and they were all coming to terms with the fate that awaited them and the much worse one they had avoided by a hair’s breadth.

“James, come here,” Thomas said and James didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides and gathered them both into his arms, heedless of the men still in the room. His forehead rested against Thomas’, their shared breathing light and shallow, as if neither of them dared to take a full breath.

“We should begin packing,” Miranda murmured but she made no move to disentangle, “we don’t have much time.”

“Yes,” James agreed, his voice as quiet as hers. He bent his head to speak in her ear, Thomas could hear but no one else would be able to. “Secret away as much of your jewelry and small valuables as possible, we’re going to need capital to establish ourselves in Nassau. I’ve got enough coin in my room to buy us a private cabin and to ensure good treatment but it won’t stretch much further.”

Miranda nodded, leaning up to press a kiss to James’ lips. He watched as it quickly descended into something more desperate, both his loves seeking to reassure and be reassured. When they parted James turned to him, a question in his eyes. He supposed there was nothing left to hide, and he met James halfway, pressing his lips to James’, soft and slow. It wasn’t hard, or fast, he didn’t crush their mouths together the way he had just last night. Instead, he kept it gentle, letting himself feel and memorize every passing touch. It was small nudges, steady warmth. “Thomas,” said James. On the next nudge, he felt the soft edge of James’ tongue. He pressed closer, reaffirming to them both that they were still together.

The men in the room shifted with discontent and Thomas could make out some unkind mutters. He didn’t care. He couldn’t draw up an ounce of care in him. 

And they only stopped because Hennessy had enough and cleared his throat, and then said, “that’s quite enough. Cease making a scene or I will have you forcibly separated and escorted to the ship with none of your things.”

Thomas recognized that it wasn’t an idle threat and pulled away from James with one last kiss. Their gazes locked and he was relieved to see that the haunted look in James’ eyes was gone, replaced by a determined glint. Together, the three of them would survive this. If Thomas had anything to say about it, they would thrive after this.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel this ending requires a bit more explanation. 
> 
> I started this story because I wanted to explore James’ beginning with Thomas and Miranda and because I wanted to set up an AU for the next part of this series. The idea is to explore what would be different if all three of them were banished to Nassau together and what that would mean for Flint’s story and for Nassau as a whole. 
> 
> I haven’t started that yet, but I’d love to hear if it something people would be interested in.


End file.
